Pridith Regina
by mildlyokay
Summary: A series of vignettes in an AU where Lessa dies early and Kylara becomes Weyrwoman of Benden. T'bor rather than F'lar is now Weyrleader of Benden. How might the Ninth Pass look?
1. Ghosts and Spirits

Here she questioned our dilemma,  
Here it was she found out how,  
Here she strove for our tomorrow, but no tomorrow for her now

* * *

First Night of Turn's End, 13.25.02 of the Ninth Pass

* * *

Finding solace with Pridith on their ledge, Kylara nestled between her queen's forelegs and watched the Ghosts whiz through the inky dark skies. Nearly three years after Lessa's ill-fated return with the Oldtimers, the Masterharper had early that evening unveiled his ballad honoring the decreased Weyrwoman's heroic deeds. Kylara had applauded with the rest and left the performance in a livid whirl of red skirts. Scorch the man for extolling Lessa's virtues!

 _Mnementh's rider comes to see you_ , Pridith informed her.

 _Is he bringing wine?_ she responded more acidly than intended. She winced at her own rancor, quick to offer the queen warm feelings of heartfelt love and apology. Pridith nudged her with her muzzle, and Kylara lifted a hand to lovingly pat the velvety soft nose. Then she stood, fluffing her skirts and readjusting her bodice. She smoothed the panel of fabric over her flat stomach, glad she now understood that particular trick of _between_ —the only useful thing she'd learned from that sanctimonious wherry, Mardra. Ruathans!

Pridith crooned, concerned at her rider's strong emotion. Kylara kissed the dragon's cheek. "I'm fine, Pridith."

"What has you out here tonight, Kylara?" F'lar asked her.

She whirled around, skirts and heavy braid flying, and leaned back against Pridith's chest for warmth. "The Ghost Showers, of course."

"You left early," he said, accusatory.

"I stayed for a rousing rendition of Robinton's new ballad. I told T'bor I would stay for that and nothing more."

"You insulted the Harpers." He pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and took a swig.

"Hardly!" Kylara eyed him in the moonlight. She'd heard he'd stopped drinking, so what had brought this on? The man still mooning for poor, dear, dead Lessa? He extended the flask to her. She grabbed it from him, took a drink, and grimaced. She handed it back to him. " _This_ is what you're drinking these days?"

F'lar shrugged. "It's not so bad when you're already half drunk."

"No one with taste would drink that," she huffed. "What do you want, F'lar?"

"Was curious if you'd left to meet someone while T'bor was left with the Harpers..."

"No. Are you offering?"

"If you want a new Weyrleader, stop sleeping around."

"Don't dare to lecture me, F'lar!"

He held up his hands as if to ward off a blow. "The men feel sympathy for him."

Incredulous, Kylara sniffed in her disdain. "And no one feels sympathy for me putting up with that wet blanket?"

"Well, they would if you were more discreet."

"Humph!"

She turned away from him to scratch at Pridith's eye ridges.

She heard F'lar take another swig of drink. "Every man has pride, you know."

"And I have Pridith."

"And a heap of vanity," F'lar drawled.

Kylara spun around, furious ... and then she smiled sweetly at him. There was no use rising to his bait. "Oh, F'lar, why so critical this evening?"

He shrugged. "You're not _her_."

"Who?" Kylara feigned ignorance.

"Lessa!"

"How silly! Of course I'm not her!"

"She was the finest Weyrwoman Pern has seen in..."

"Yes, so Robinton's ballad said," Kylara said, yawning loudly. She returned her attention to Pridith.

"If she was still alive..."

"Well, she's not!" Kylara snapped.

"You..." Angry, he waggled a finger at her. He didn't dare touch her, as close as they were to her queen.

"F'lar, I am not some weak, biddable Weyrwoman, but you didn't want that when you told me Pridith was mine, did you? No, do not dare to interrupt me! You wanted someone with the strength to command Pern's attention, while somehow you and Lessa expected me to do your bidding. But today, I am Weyrwomen of Benden, and Pern looks to _me_ where they can't look to Mardra!"

"Lessa was everything," he told her.

"Oh, find another woman, F'lar!"

"I can't, not with what happened."

"It doesn't have to be love."

"If you haven't experienced it, you wouldn't understand."

She grabbed his jacket collar and yanked him towards her. Drunk, he didn't resist. She planted a kiss on his lips, and then stepped back against Pridith, smiling slyly at him, "You've helped me understand true love, F'lar. Now give me that flask and be gone. Shoo! To your weyr!"

"Pridith flies soon," he muttered.

Kylara snatched the flask from him, interrupting him as he began protesting. "How observant of you, wingleader! Be gone before T'bor gets back!"

F'lar flicked his hair out of his eyes. "Now you care?"

She took a swig of his liquor and, grimacing, wiped her mouth. The liquor wasn't fit for a Threadscored rider. She cleared her throat and sweetly said, "You did tell me that if I wanted a new Weyrleader, I should make myself sympathetic."

He shook his head and reached for his flask. She held it out of his reach.

"Give me my flask."

"Sober up, F'lar!" she turned away from him. Pridith rumbled and nudged F'lar.

Kylara smiled to herself as she heard F'lar walking away. He was pathetic now, just like the rest of them.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** :

So ... if the stanza at the beginning held a touch of familiarity, it happened like this. I ended up listening to a ton of Bach while writing, followed for some reason by the Les Mis soundtrack while editing. So, yes, the stanza at the beginning is filk off of some lines from "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables". Felt oddly appropriate.

I'd always wondered what had happened if Lessa had died bringing the Oldtimers forward, and I've seen all of one (!) AU exploring what if Kylara became Weyrwoman of Benden (said fic by astrokath over on Ao# is phenomenal, by the way). I ended up rereading the parts of DF & DQ involving or mentioning Kylara. I compiled a short list of questions that could be explored via a series of vignettes under the premise of "Kylara takes over Benden Weyr when Lessa dies"

So, my thoughts. Kylara is still a promiscuous egotist in the scenes I've outlined, but as the Weyrwoman of a traditional Weyr earlier in her life, I haven't decided yet if she'll end up bent on world domination. I've long thought she felt being Weyrwoman of Southern Weyr was an insult to her as someone of the Telgar Blood and that her resentment towards Lessa stemmed from feeling like Lessa had 'exiled' her to Southern to keep her away from F'lar.

if you have any questions you think I should explore with these vignettes, please let me know.


	2. Duty and Respect

Turn's End, 13.26.02

* * *

"Yes, that poor girl, dying like that. It was a good ballad they've made, but you're Weyrwoman now and have to put up with those souring Oldtimers. Ah, what a sad, sad thing, her death! So tragic!"

Even Ranelly blathered on about Lessa! Kylara wanted to scream at the disloyal old woman embroidering a skirt for her, so she stomped out of her Weyr to tend Pridith. She was quite tired of comparisons to Lessa after last night's celebrations. People were foolish—Lessa was dead, and Kylara was alive. No comparison existed! Lessa had left _her_ to deal with the stodgy, boring Oldtimers.

She grabbed the pot of oil and a rag, and strode to her dozing queen. With broad strokes at first, she brushed oil onto the queen's belly. Pridith rolled to one side, and Kylara massaged the oil onto the queen's belly, where her hide had begun to flake. The dragon sighed contentment, and Kylara smiled. They'd have another clutch soon, when she rose, and maybe another queen. She wanted to send Vanira and Ralenth to Southern before they matured—Pridith's bronzes paid too much attention to them.

 _The Weyrleader comes to speak to you_. Pridith commented, apprehensive.

Kylara knew the queen was fond of T'bor—the man doted on Pridith, as he should—and knew their too frequent arguments upset her. Drunk though F'lar may have been, Kylara mused as she gave the spot a final swipe, he might have the right of it with his suggestion. She hadn't really thought to replace her Weyrleader—only wished it a few times during one of his jealous fits—but she needed someone else. The problem was in convincing Pridith. T'bor wasn't awful, but he was so...spineless!

She walked to Pridith's head, and began massaging oil into the great muzzle. The queen snorted playfully, and Kylara laughed. _I'm glad you don't blow snot bubbles like a brat does._

 _Never!_

Kylara marveled at Pridith's playfulness and smiled. With Pridith beside her, she could deal with T'bor until she could afford to replace him. She scratched a spot on the queen's cheek she knew itched and then dabbed and rubbed oil onto the spot. Pridith's contentment eased her worries.

"F'lar was on your ledge last night," T'bor commented, his tone accusatory. "You're still in your dressing robe…did he stay the night?"

"That drunk fool?" she scoffed. "He showed up crying about Lessa."

T'bor made a disparaging sound. "I thought he'd quit drinking."

"No, I had to take his flask from him, not that the liquor was fit for consumption," Kylara responded. Pridith remarked on Mnementh's activities. Kylara relayed it to T'bor, drawling, "Good thing, too. He's been timing it to go back and watch Lessa."

T'bor grimaced. "He's too good a wingleader to lose or to ground. You could have Pridith stop him…"

Kylara fixed T'bor with a stony gaze. "Just tell the watchriders that Mnementh isn't allowed out of the Weyr."

"He'll disobey."

"Until he disobeys, I won't interfere," Kylara said, whirling back to Pridith. She was not going to alienate F'lar unless she had to. T'bor should do his damned job! Sensing T'bor seethed behind her, she massaged oil into the queen's nearest eye ridge.

"This is about his wellbeing…"

"A queen should not interfere with wing matters," Kylara replied. "You tell me that often enough."

"Kylara, that's not why you won't..."

"We're done with the spots, Pridith. I'll give you a better oiling later," Kylara said, walking away from her queen and T'bor. She set aside the oil and the rag.

T'bor followed her and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her around to face him. "I am Weyrleader, and I deserve respect!"

"Your dragon earns it through Pridith, and I am Weyrwoman! Respect belongs to me!"

T'bor pressed her against the wall of the weyr. Kylara unexpectedly felt thrill shiver up her spine.

Anger hardening his face, he leaned in towards her. His tone was menacing as he said, "Should I respect you right now?"

"Come back later, when Ranelly is done with my mending," she said, lowering her eyes.

Kylara would do as F'lar suggested, for now. And a little more.


	3. Sober Ruminations

Turnover, 01.01.03, Ninth Pass

* * *

Damn T'bor for interfering! F'lar thought as they emerged from between above the Ruathan fireheights.

Mnementh rumbled beneath him. F'lar brushed his forelock out of his eyes and looked to his left where F'nor and Canth shadowed him. He clenched his teeth, resenting this intrusion upon his previously clandestine visits to Ruatha, where he'd sometimes go between times to watch Lessa. He knew instinctively the dangers of interfering and the dangers of being there too often, but he no longer even had the possibility thanks to T'bor's orders!

And damn Kylara for telling the Weyrleader! he thought more vehemently. That woman was not fit to be Weyrwoman. He never should have pressed Lessa to tutor her before Pridith's egg! The egocentrism he'd mistaken as strength of will, the thought that a dragon would keep her in check. If Lessa hadn't died, they could have removed Kylara to the resumed Southern Weyr project.

 _Be at ease, F'lar_ , Mnementh said, rumbling again as he and Canth banked towards the Ruathan courtyard. _Pridith does well by the Weyrwoman, and the Weyrwoman does well by Pridith. We should not have gone in time to see Lessa. It makes you worse to see her. You must move on._

 _She was everything Pern needed, Mnementh._

 _Pern prospers because of what they did,_ Mnementh responded, imploring him, _but you must move on._

F'lar grimaced at the transience of dragon's memories, although he knew the dragon was right. The resilience F'lon had instilled in him as a youngster had crumbled with Lessa's death. He had always thought that when he became Weyrleader, all would be right with the dragonriders and Pern. He hadn't counted on Lessa's allure—he hadn't understood what it would mean for him to love another.

Mnementh landed neatly and F'lar vaulted from his withers. F'lar patted the bronze's great foreleg as F'nor strode up to him to confer.

"You won't try to go back to see Lessa today?" the brownrider implored him.

F'lar shook his head. "I won't put you in that position, F'nor."

F'nor nodded, looking relieved. Quite earnest, he said, "I would vouch for you, if I thought…"

"I wouldn't put you in that position, F'nor," F'lar repeated, placing a grateful but reassuring hand on his wingsecond's shoulder. "Besides, I try to visit young Jaxom every so often. Lytol is so dour and…"

He choked up and couldn't continue.

"You feel you owe it to Lessa to see that the Hold she gave up for your grand vision—"

F'lar made a peremptory cutting motion. He collected himself by clearing his throat, "Something like that, brother. Ruatha Hold needs more children Jaxom's age."

The Lord Warder and the young Lord made their way from the Hold proper to where the dragonmen stood by their beasts. Under his breath, F'nor commented, "Lytol shouldn't remind young Jaxom of Lessa's sacrifices so often."

F'lar shook his head, saying grimly, "No youngster needs that burden, not with a mother dead in his birthing." He couldn't quite bring himself to admit Lessa's part in the Lady Gemma's death.

F'nor looked at him, questioning. "F'lar, you need to think about your duty to Weyr and Pern."

"In time, F'nor," F'lar said, gritting his teeth as he motioned his brother forward to meet Lytol and Jaxom.


	4. A Weyrwoman's Games

Springtime, Turn 3 of the Ninth Pass  
Anniversary of Lessa's return and death

* * *

Kylara woke early by instinct as she always did the morning of Threadfall. She was pleased to find her bed lacking both T'bor and her unexpected visitor, her languid stretch spanning the better part of the couch as she reached out for Pridith's mind. The queen slumbered lightly on the Hatching Ground amidst the mounds of 37 eggs. Still no queen egg to allow her to send Vanira and Ralenth to Southern Weyr, but she had maybe a Turn before the young gold matured.

As F'lar had suggested to her, Kylara had attempted loyalty to T'bor since Turn's End. Orth had flown Pridith again, but Kylara had persevered with T'bor, again at F'lar's suggestion that unseating the Weyrleader required time. Ironic, then, that he had been the one to end her self-imposed faithfulness to T'bor. F'lar had visited drunk, again, and Kylara had thought 'why not' at the time. F'lar had let himself go since the last time they'd made love, and even with as mediocre as this recent lovemaking session had been, it rekindled her desire for men other than T'bor.

The man's drunken, half-incompetent floundering had left her unsatisfied until she'd taunted him over it, and then the fun had begun. When they'd both finished and he'd thanked her for helping him temporarily forget Lessa, she had ordered him out of her weyr—telling him to work on himself and his lovemaking—rather than letting him catch his breath in her bed. Humiliated beneath the weight of her words, he'd clothed himself and stormed out, still drunk. She'd laughed. He would learn not to mention Lessa.

This morning, she was a little sore in the way that tepid T'bor never seemed able to make her outside of Pridith's flights. Perhaps that was what she missed about her other lovers, although most of them still seemed too deferential to her position as Weyrwoman to really do what she wanted. She'd tried showing T'bor what she really wanted, but he just _couldn't_ or _wouldn't_. Maybe she should try again, though—maybe he could be taught? T'bor was the only bronze rider in Benden now capable of managing the rigors of being Weyrleader, so perhaps with patience she could show him what she needed.

If not, well, Kylara could wait until another worthy man proved ready for the challenge. She stretched again, and slid off her sleeping couch, the furs trailing behind her as she meandered towards the bathing pool. The morning proved chill, and she always needed a long soak on the days she woke early.


End file.
